


I'll Save Your Life If You'll Save Mine

by sherlockedbbc



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, Just Cutesy Stuff, Love, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 15:37:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockedbbc/pseuds/sherlockedbbc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock takes a bullet for John. Declarations of love are made. Fluffity fluff fluff in general!</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Save Your Life If You'll Save Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading this! One of my first fanfics :) Please rate and comment! More coming soon!!!

John’s heart pounds, his pulse racing. He keeps his arm steady, his gun trained in the direction of the door to the warehouse, where he knows one of Moriarty’s snipers is posted. He glances towards Sherlock, and for a moment his eyes betray the fear that is coursing through his body as he sees the red dot of the sniper’s gun aimed at the center of Sherlock’s heart. 

“Put your gun down,” John says in the calmest voice he can manage. 

It takes only a split second for Sherlock to realize what’s about to happen. As he watches the red dot move from his heart, he knows exactly what he must do. And an instant before the world explodes in John’s ears, Sherlock launches himself at him and covers him, shielding his body with his tall form, pushing him out of harm’s way as the first shot is fired. Then another. And another. 

John seizes the gun beside him and fires rapidly in the direction of the sniper. It only takes one bullet for the criminal to collapse to the ground, but John knows that he isn’t dead, only wounded. He shot to cripple, not to kill. 

Satisfied that the sniper poses no active threat, John then turns his attention to Sherlock, and frantic terror fills his body as he sees Sherlock lying on top of him, blood already collecting in a pool beneath his left shoulder. 

“Sherlock,” John chokes out, his heart racing. Sherlock is losing blood—fast—and already color is fading from his pale face. John shudders as Sherlock’s light grey green eyes meet his own. 

“Hang in there,” whispers John, hurriedly removing his coat and pressing it against Sherlock’s wound, in an effort to slow the flow of blood. 

He digs his fingers into his pocket for his mobile phone and calls for an ambulance. Next, he dials Lestrade. 

He’s trying so hard to keep himself together, to be strong for Sherlock, who is grimacing in pain, his head in John’s lap. The best John can do is to gently circle his arms around Sherlock in a loose hug, trembling, as he watches the life slowly fade out of his best friend. \--- 

John watches as Sherlock is wheeled into an ambulance, the blood flowing from his wound staining the paleness of the sheets a deep, dark red. His mind is numb—blank—and all he can think is, God, please let him be okay. The paramedics are frantically feeling for his pulse and attempting to staunch the bleeding. 

_Go help them. You’re a doctor. John. Move._

His hands tremble as he moves closer to Sherlock, and it takes every effort in him not to cry. He stands in front of him, and Sherlock’s eyes flicker in recognition. He isn’t unconscious yet, but he soon will be if he loses too much blood. John knows the danger that Sherlock is in—there’s always the chance that one of the sniper’s bullets will damage Sherlock’s heart or the area around it. 

“Sherlock.” John fights to keep his voice steady. “Listen to me. You’ll be okay. Keep fighting. Do you hear me?” 

Sherlock blinks at him, his eyes betraying his vulnerability and fear. “John,” he rasps. “John—” 

“Shh.” John reaches for Sherlock’s hand. “It’ll all be okay. I promise.” 

Sherlock smiles faintly and closes his eyes, fading quickly. 

John watches him quietly, praying. He doesn’t leave his side for the whole ride to the hospital, and Sherlock never lets go of his hand, even after he loses consciousness. 

John begins talking to him, hoping that the sound of voice, even in the depths of unconsciousness, will bring some comfort to his best friend. 

_Sherlock. Please. Listen to me. You need to fight. You need to fight to live. Fight to love. Fight for everything you love and care about. Fight for me. Fight for yourself. Sherlock, do you hear me? You need to stay alive. The world needs you. I need you._

 _Don’t leave me, Sherlock. This is not okay._

 _

Sherlock, I love you. Stay with me. You have to live. 

_ \--- 

Beep. Beep. The sound from the monitors fills John’s senses, each beep reminding him that Sherlock is alive. Breathing. Still with him. 

He had been rushed to the emergency room, where the doctors had removed the bullets which were imbedded in his shoulder. Thankfully, all three of the bullets barely missed his heart, and no permanent damage was done. After stitching up the wound, they had placed Sherlock in a hospital room and given him a blood transfusion. 

When Sherlock blinks awake, the first thing he sees is John by his bedside, brightening the room with his strong, solid presence. 

When he sees that Sherlock is awake, John moves his chair closer and gazes into those beautiful, brilliant green eyes and drinks in the sight of Sherlock. 

“Hey,” he says softly, brushing an errant curl from off Sherlock’s forehead. “How are you doing?” 

Sherlock nods. “Good.” He reaches for John’s hand and John lets him twine their fingers together. 

On impulse, John presses a kiss to his forehead and Sherlock feels something warm trickle onto his face. When John straightens up again, Sherlock can see that he is crying silently. 

“John?” he whispers. “Are you all right?” 

John only looks at him, not bothering to brush the tears away. “Sherlock,” he says, his voice close to breaking. “You risked your life…for me.” 

Sherlock tries to assume a look of insignificance. “It was merely what you would have done for me.” 

John gazes at him, letting his eyes convey the gratitude and affection he is feeling. 

“I heard you, you know,” says Sherlock quietly. “I heard those things you were saying to me. About how you love me.” 

“I do, Sherlock,” whispers John. “I always will.” 

Sherlock is silent for a while. “John,” he says finally. “I’m sorry.” 

For a moment, a fleeting look of disappointment crosses John’s face. “Not about that,” Sherlock corrects himself. “I mean, I’m sorry…for…scaring you. I’m sorry for worrying you.” 

John looks down at him, his face full of affectionate surprise. “Oh, Sherlock. I’m just grateful that you’re okay.” 

Sherlock nods, a little awkwardly, and clears his throat. “Umm, when can I go home?” he asks. 

John laughs. “Not until tomorrow, Sherlock. The doctors want to keep you here for the night, so you’ll just have to fight off boredom until then.” 

Sherlock looks up at him with an unspoken question in his eyes. Somehow, wrapped in up in the paleness of the hospital blankets, Sherlock looks oddly vulnerable and helpless, something that John isn’t used to. 

John smiles a little. “I’ll stay with you tonight,” he tells Sherlock and is rewarded when Sherlock quirks his mouth into a small smile. “I’m going back to the flat to pick up some things. Do you need anything?” 

Sherlock shakes his head and grabs his mobile and begins texting, leaving John to gaze at him fondly as he leaves Sherlock’s hospital room. 

It’s so low that he almost doesn’t catch it, but just as he reaches the doorway he hears Sherlock murmur, “I love you, too.” 

He can’t stop smiling the whole way home, leaning against the window of the cab, watching the world pass by, knowing that in a small hospital room not far away, there is a certain consulting detective waiting for him. \--- 

When John returns to Sherlock’s room, he can already tell how bored Sherlock is. He’s wearing his “bored” face and his hands are fidgeting, and if John isn’t careful, he may have to deal with a very grumpy Sherlock for the rest of the night. 

But when Sherlock sees John in the doorway, his whole face lights up and he actually looks…happy. Not the happy like when he’s finally cracked a particularly difficult case. That’s a more excited, buzzing happy. Now, Sherlock looks…contented and satisfied. Relaxed, even. 

John hands a bag of Chinese takeout to Sherlock. “Eat, Sherlock.” 

“I’m not hungry.” 

John rolls his eyes. “Eat anyways. You’re far too thin. I’m your doctor. Now eat.” 

Sherlock gives an exaggerated sigh and opens the bag, but John can see that Sherlock actually is hungry; he just doesn’t want to admit it. 

They eat in silence, letting the smell of the food waft between them, until Sherlock puts down his food on the table beside his bed. John glances at it and notices that Sherlock has eaten more than half of it. He smiles a little to himself. 

“John?” 

“Hmm?” 

“I’m bored.” 

John laughs and shakes his head. 

Sherlock looks at him. “Entertain me.” 

John crosses his arms. “And how am I supposed to that? Your definition of ‘fun’ is rather different from mine.” 

Sherlock thinks for a moment and says, “How about a game?” 

“You can’t really go anywhere you know,” says John, gesturing at Sherlock’s shoulder. “And I don’t think I can think of a game interesting enough for you.” 

Sherlock lets out an exasperated sigh. “Talk to me, then. About something interesting.” 

John tries to think of something interesting to talk about, but the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, “You love me.” 

Sherlock raises his eyebrows. “Obviously.” 

“How is it obvious when I didn’t even know that until today?” John asks, and then holds up a finger. “Actually, don’t answer that. I know. I’m an idiot. I see and don’t observe, all that.” 

Sherlock gives him an admiring glance. “Precisely what I was about to say. You’re getting rather good at predicting my responses, John.” 

John rolls his eyes and scoots his chair closer to Sherlock’s bed. “Alright. How long, then?” 

Sherlock shrugs. “Probably since the first day we met. I suppose when I let you call me an idiot and didn’t punch you flat in the face. That’s close enough to love for me.” 

John laughs and says, “I suppose you know exactly the day and moment that I fell in love with you.” 

“Oh, obviously,” Sherlock says. “The day you shot the cabbie to save my life. I don’t believe I ever expressed my gratitude to you for that…so. Um. Thank you.” 

John smiles a little as Sherlock’s forehead creases as he says those two unfamiliar words. “Sherlock,” John says, leaning in closer so he can look into his eyes. “I would do it again, for you, any day.” 

Sherlock looks into John’s warm brown eyes and whispers, “And I would willingly take a bullet to protect you.” 

“I love you,” murmurs John. 

“And I love you.” 

They talk and talk and talk until the moon is high in the sky and sleep lies heavily on their eyelids. Then Sherlock moves over in his bed and John climbs in next to him, and enveloped in their shared warmth and love, they both fall asleep, breathing together, entirely happy and content with the world.


End file.
